So long ago, but the memory remains strong. As it should, no one ever forgets their first sexual experience, whether it be with shame, disappointment or pure joy, it fixes itself into the memory bank. After many decades, I still classify that time as a mix of all three, with perhaps the addition of shock and surprise.

Summer, and I had a long break before starting university, where, I was informed, there were girls galore, all longing for their first sexual experience. So, my casual mate, Lenny Canning, affirmed. A few days earlier, he had told me how he'd had Betty Danton in the long grass in Byker Park.

"Everybody's had Betty Danton," I told him, knowing I shouldn’t have said anything.

"You haven't."

Lenny Canning, I should have known, would make the most of my ignorance, "You've never had it with any girl, have you?" Always rubbing it in about how "slow" I was.

Finding somebody like Betty Danton, a girl who was "easy", seemed beyond me.

This made Lenny Canning's added taunt, sadly true when he sneered, "I'll bet you don't even know that women have a moustache, a bush, down there."

That summer, I was also faced with the prospect of having our two bed-roomed flat to myself for the very first time. My parents had decided to take their first continental holiday, and my father had enthused, "Seven days on the Costa Brava. What could be better? Sun, sand and ssss-" He deliberately spun it out as my mother nudged him, "-ssangria!"

As they left my mother was full of warnings and advice, "Don't just live on fish and chips. I've left plenty of food in the fridge. And keep the place tidy. No wild parties."

"And no loose women," my father had laughed.

"Be careful who you open the door to," was my mother's final advice.

It all looked good. Late nights at the local pubs with some pals, late sleep-in mornings. Eating when I felt like it. Going to the cinema, keeping my eye open for a chance with the girl to help me lose my cherry before I reached university. Trouble was, I didn't know how. None of the girls I had tried to get "into the long grass" would have any of it.

Then came that morning. It was a Wednesday, and there was no sun. I was out of bed before ten, and, wearing thin summer pants with an unbuttoned shirt, I was down in the kitchen to make myself coffee and toast. I was trying to decide how to spend the day when there was a knock at the front door.

Not expecting anybody I went through into the front room and peered through the curtains. A figure with a long red and black shawl, that covered her head and reached down over the top half of her body, was standing there.

A gipsy. Of course, it was the fortnight of the summer fair, when several caravans and an assortment of stalls and rides were set up in the field just two streets away. At such times gipsies calling at the door were no surprise, as they did their rounds selling lucky white heather or clothes pegs.

My mother always used to say, "I'll give them short shrift. One once said she'd put a curse on me." She would laugh then and add, "That was the year you were born. Funny that."

I went to the door, a mug of coffee still in my hand, and ready to give this visitor "short shrift." But the moment I opened the door, the world turned around, my breath caught in my throat, my heart pounded inside my chest and the mug shook in my hand.

I had been expecting some old crone. In front of me, framed by the shawl was a young, bright face, with wide brown eyes that strayed from my own face and down the opening in my shirt. This was a face, with full moist lips, high cheekbones and such delicate skin, so stunning that it was as though I had never seen a woman before.

Her lips parted as she said in a voice that, to my befuddled mind made her words sound like a song, "Tell your fortune for half a crown?"

Her lips remained parted as the tip of her pink tongue licked lightly over them, and, filling my abject silence, she went on, "Tell your fortune for a cup of that delicious smelling coffee." And she sniffed her delicate little nose in the direction of the mug I was holding.

"Would you like one?" Was that my own shaky voice speaking from the stupor I was in?

Her face lit up as she asked, "Is that okay?" And that lighting up sent a warm surge into my chest.

I tore my eyes away to glance nervously up and down the street, which appeared to be deserted, but unable to think straight I immediately said, "Better come through to the kitchen."

"Are you sure?" she asked but immediately added, "Thanks," and stepped over the threshold.

No, I wasn't at all sure. A voice in my head screamed to know what the hell I was doing. My legs felt as though they belonged to somebody else, as I led the way to the kitchen. I waved vaguely at a chair while thinking, My mother will go nuts. A gipsy, loose in the house! But it was the only way I could keep that wondrous face in view, even though it had me all a-tremble.

I fumbled with a mug and the coffee preparation, and again her voice wafted around me, "You don't live here alone, do you?"

Somehow I managed to stammer where my parents were.

"I imagine it's lovely there. So hot. No sugar, thank you." She had seen me scoop into the bowl with the teaspoon. I turned towards her with the mug, and, wow, did my trembling increase. Her shawl had been had shrugged off over the back of the chair, and I was looking at nothing less than a pure dream image.

Her hair, cascading to her shoulders, was not black as I had expected but was a light sandy colour. A vivid red blouse seemed to emphasise subtle curves underneath, but with two buttons undone, I could see the flesh tones of the beginning of those curves. With the table in the way, I could only imagine a continued line of her trim figure.

"Don't you want to give it to me?"

Was I hearing right? "I beg your pardon?" I asked dumbly.

"The coffee," she said, a slight smile on her lovely lips.

God, I needed to collect myself. "Oh, sorry," I said, placing the mug in front of her. "I thought gipsies always had black hair."

"I was adopted by the Mantelas when I was a baby. My real parents were killed in a motor accident."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged, "I never knew them. The Mantelas have been so good to me. It was good growing up with a travelling fair. They put me through university. This is good coffee,"

I had sat across the table from her, still slightly bewitched. "I'm glad you like it. University, you say?" I couldn't understand how she could be doing this door to door stuff. "How long ago?"

She grinned, "I'm still there now. Entering my final year at Edinburgh. Doing a relaxing fortnight stint with the show. My gipsy roots."

Grateful for her quick clarification of her situation, I reckoned that if her final year, she would be twenty-one. Three years older than me, but why did that matter? Managing to relax just a little, I told her I was starting at Loughborough in September. But that gap at the neckline of her blouse kept catching my eye.

I told her I was studying Mechanical Engineering with some sport. "Ah, yes," she said, and didn't her eyes glance down at my open shirt once more? "I thought you looked--quite athletic. I'm doing psychology, with French and Spanish."

Psychology? The way her brown eyes lingered on me, I wondered if she could read my mind. At that moment I was wondering what it would be like to kiss those full lips. But I grappled to hang on to my composure as I observed, "A lot to cram into a three-year course."

"It's a four-year course. I'll be an old woman of near twenty-five when I qualify." I voiced my puzzlement at her maths

"I didn't start until I was twenty," She looked away, far away it seemed, before adding, “A romantic entanglement that-" She shrugged and her eyes fixed on mine as she pushed her empty mug away, "Anyway, thanks for the coffee. If you give me your hand I'll do your fortune."

Uncertainly I held out my right hand and the moment the fingers of her right hand nestled underneath it, keeping my palm upwards, darts of electricity shot up my arm. Those fingers were so smooth so gentle, so alive, my breath quickened.

"Now just relax," she said, as she leaned forward to look down into my palm, before bringing her left hand to hover over it, and for the first time, I noticed her long, unpolished fingernails. The next instant one of those nails on her left-hand index finger was tracing a line up the centre of my palm, and what had been darts of electricity, became lasers that probed way beyond my arm and were felt deep down low in my belly where the twitch in my cock startled me.

Her voice lowered as she said, "I don't know your name." When I told her she went on, "Mark's a manly name. Call me Melita. It's from the Spanish. Ah, you have a very long lifeline. That's good."

Her nail changed direction slightly, and she whispered, "And you are going to be very successful, oh, yes, all very positive." Another movement and each trail of that fingernail sent a fresh surge through my body.

God, just her touch on the palm of my hand. What might it be like if--? I buried the thought and watched that face brighten and then darken. When she spoke again there was a surprised tone in her voice, "Strange I cannot find a trace for your romance line." Her eyes were wide as she looked up into my face, "Is there no girlfriend?"

When I admitted that there wasn't, she leaned forward to look more closely, before her fingernail seemed to be scratching at one section of my palm. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mark, am I reading this correctly? You've never experienced a woman's body?"

How had that probing fingernail revealed that worrying fact? Now there was an intensity in her eyes as they fixed on my face Those eyes were so deep, and I was sure my face must be so red. Hell, she had discovered my basic immaturity. All I could manage was a despairing shake of my head.

At this point, she gave a little tug on my hand and said, "This is uncomfortable across your wide table. It's too strained. Could you come around and sit alongside me?"

I could, but I was very aware and worried she would notice the pressure that had developed in my pants. Edging around the table, I saw that, below a trim waist this gipsy called Melita wore a wide summer skirt of mixed colours. As I took that in, I was pretty sure her eyes glanced down to where my pants had to be bulging.

Sitting so that my knees were almost touching hers, I kept my left hand across my lap in a vain attempt to disguise my lack of physical control. I was just wondering whether it would be sensible to end this whole business immediately to save me further embarrassment, when she gave a kindly smile, reached for my right hand, and that magical fingernail began to trace once more over my palm.

Again electronic spasms ran through my body. How, from such a small surface area, could this happen? But her face, that smile, even her voice seemed to have alerted my skin to receive messages that my wild imagination fed on.

"There's no doubt, Mark," her voice was low and haunting, "that your course is set for good fortune." Her eyes came up to hold mine and her brow furrowed as she said, "But no female experience, that is unacceptable for a handsome man like you."

Why should that bother her? I could only let out a stammering, "Y-y-es," as her hand pulled mine gently towards her.

"You have kissed girls and women, I hope?"

"Of course, " I said with a positivity I wasn't feeling.

"Touched a bare female breast?"

My God, what was she asking that for? Involuntarily my head shook and my whole arm trembled as she placed her right hand against her blouse front, bringing my fingers to rest on the smooth skin where the buttons were unfastened, and the subtle rise of her breasts began.

Had she made that move on purpose? I didn't dare let myself think that. Heat filled my face, and a less subtle rise was increasing in my pants, but her next question left little doubt about where this might be leading...

"Would you consider kissing me?"

Breath shuddered in my throat. Raw anxiety filled my mind. Was I supposed to act with confidence? Was she just teasing me, seeing how inept I was? Or had she just simply read my mind? Whichever it was, lying about it seemed pointless.

"That might be nice," I mumbled. God, how dumb did that sound?

"Then move closer," she whispered, leaning forward herself.

My fingers were trembling against the warm skin of her upper chest, and the moment our lips touched, her hand released mine for just a second, made some vague movement before returning to grip my wrist. As my mouth relished the sweet softness of her lips, they parted slightly, and her tongue probed, to set my whole mouth tingling.

Such warm, sweet moistness, but then the hand gripping my wrist dragged my heated fingers under her blouse to slide over the incredible smoothness of her left breast. She guided my fingers over a firm nipple, before releasing my hand, and some instinct beyond my own experience had my hand closing completely over that glorious globe. I was touching a real live breast!

My tongue, as though already trained, wrestled madly with hers as my mouth became an oven of pulsing heat. All incredibly sensuous apart from the discomfort of my imprisoned erection

Melita broke the kiss, and I had a moment of disappointment, but when she drew back her head I could see immediately that this break was only temporary. The expression on her face had completely changed.

From that fresh openness, her lustrous brown eyes were clouded as they looked at me, her lips were parted, and when she spoke her voice no longer tinkled. It had become so husky, it was almost a growl as she grunted, "You have a lovely touch. Finger my nipple, rub it. Oh, yes, just like that."

Crazily, I almost had a sense of power as I drew my fingers together on that hard little bud, and I watched her face appear to melt, eyes closed, mouth agape, brow furrowed and pink tongue fluttering at her upper lip.

Melita's knee pushed along my inner thigh as she leaned forward, the constriction of my eagerly swollen cock became a real pain. I could not recall ever having such an erection.

Her face came close to mine and I anticipated another kiss, but, with her eyelids lowered, her warm breath on my face, and the spicy scent of her storming into my head, she whispered huskily, "I like how I'm feeling with you, Mark. Would you like to learn more about a woman's body?"

Her words were so startling that despite what had happened up to this point, I could not let myself believe she would go further. One part of my brain was telling me to refuse, I wasn't ready for this.

I would be like a blind man in a garden of delights. She could end up laughing at my ineptitude. At the same time, a crazed imp in my head was screaming, "Not ready? With an erection like that? Go on, man, grasp this nettle, squeeze out the sting, make yourself ready for the promised joys of university."

My broken responses made me sound like a retard, "I don't—Can we-? It'll be-" Yet even while I was struggling with an answer, her left hand had trailed up my thigh, and was suddenly resting on my bulging pants. That touch had me jerking, and a gasping croak escaped my lips, so she was able to answer her own question.

"Oh, you would, wouldn't you?" A sensuous smile was lighting her, now, lust-filled face. "Is there anywhere a bit more comfortable?"

We both stood up, facing each other, and I immediately saw that she had, somehow unbuttoned all the buttons on her blouse, so it hung like a curtain tempting to be opened to reveal the already half visible twin mounds. My breathing had never been relaxed, now I felt I was gasping for air. Melita moved in close, saying, "You hesitate?"

Putting her arms around me, she ground her lower belly against my bulge. She was about six inches shorter than me, and her next instruction surprised me. "Bend your knees slightly." I did as I was told, and immediately knew what she was doing as my bulge pressed up between her parted thighs, and that sensation seemed magnified by the thinness of her skirt.

She ground against me and sighed, "That's only the beginning."

With the gap in my open shirt, against the gap in her blouse, I was getting, apart from the hint of what lay between her thighs, the sensation of how amazing skin against skin might be.

There could be little more resistance as my strained voice gasped, "My bedroom. My bed."

She released me and said, "Good. Lead the way." But as I half turned to move to my bedroom, she gripped my arm to hold me back. I looked again into the promise in those deep eyes and that unbuttoned blouse.

She almost whispered, "Mark, before we go ahead, I want you to know this is not normal for me. Near four years in university, and I have only had three brief, less than satisfying, liaisons. So, I'm probably in need of this as much as you are. Understand?"

I understood but at that moment, I wouldn't have cared if she was the biggest whore in the world. I nodded, turned away, pushed open my bedroom door and hurried to the window to draw the curtains.

Turning to face her, I felt my heartbeat increase like some mad thing. Between the kitchen and my bedroom she had slid out of the red blouse, and under her lasciviously smiling face, her two perfectly formed breasts pointed brown nipples directly at me.

Before I could absorb it all, in she had moved in close, whispering, "You are overdressed." Her two hands came up and with a flourish, she pushed my shirt off my shoulders. Then those exquisite breasts were pressed against my bare chest. How right I had been in anticipating the pleasure of skin against skin.

Our lips and tongues went into a repeat overture. Her hands roamed over my back, and I explored up and down hers, heaving at the circling of her belly against my bulge.

Then she broke the kiss to move her lips to nuzzle close to my ear as she murmured, "If you just let your hands push under the waistband, my skirt is elasticated. It should go down quite easily.”

The invitation alone was stimulating, so the action of stripping off her remaining clothing was a gift to add to my highly charged libido. In pushing under the waistband and down my open palms discovered the edge of her panties, and again she broke our kiss to hiss, "Yes, yes, take them too." It just got better and better.

Now my hands were basking over the glories of her rounded buttocks. I could have allowed them to play there forever, such silkiness, such curves, but she gave a little wriggle, as skirt and panties fell away to the floor.

Immediately, she took a couple of steps away from me, and struck such a sensuous pose, saying, "Like what you see?"

I drew in a deep breath. We had been strangers less than an hour ago and there she was completely naked, all subtle curves, as she swayed her hips in a teasing dance. From head to toe she was perfect, shoulders, breasts, belly, thighs, and that patch of hair, her "moustache", was not a triangle as I had read it could be. It was more of an oval shape and only a slightly darker tawny shade than the hair on her head.

The total image had my blood surging through my veins, bringing a pounding in my head, in my chest, and in my groin. God, if I couldn't perform with this kind of stimulus, I never would? Would I?

She swayed towards me, and I feared I was about to find out. "I think we should free that poor creature you have locked in there." Her hands reached for my belt buckle, and now my skin changed from heated to chilled. I had just viewed a willingly naked woman for the first time, and it had been thrilling. But another first was only seconds away, and it was terrifying me.

No woman had ever set eyes on my erect penis!

With alarming speed, Melita had my belt undone and my pants tumbling to the floor. I could see the playful smile on her face as she bent to pull down my boxer shorts. Oh, God, the touch of her hands on my bare hips, as the shorts snagged on an obvious obstruction.

A further push and boxers dropped away and my erect cock appeared to leap out right under her nose. My embarrassed gasp must have sounded like a duet with Melita's gasp of approval.

"Jesus, Mark, that is impressive." And as I stood transfixed, her hands wrapped around it, and she stooped to place her lips on the bulbous purple head of my so delicate throbbing cock.

Kissed and stroked! In just a few minutes I had fondled a bare breast, played with a nipple, and gazed at a totally naked delectable woman. Now this, as her fingers and lips lightly caressing my bulging tip.

It was all too much for my virgin cock. In despair, I knew what was going to happen. I cried out a warning as she moved her lips away, a dam burst deep inside me, and I groaned as the surge poured through my untrained cock. With a mixture of anguish and release, I looked down to see the first spurts shoot whitely up Melita's arm.

Swiftly she was reaching to where her blouse lay and from there, she produced a bundle of kitchen paper she must have collected on the way through. Now she clasped it over my spouting end. "Just as I thought," she murmured.

God, she had thought ahead. Had prepared for this debacle. I just wanted the ground to open under my feet. Even though Melita looked completely unperturbed, I had to groan, "Oh, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Don't be," she said quietly as she wiped her arm. "How many women have stroked you there?"

"None."

"Exactly. And I'll wager ninety per cent of men have that first touch result, some just from anticipation." She cast the towel into my waste bin.

Unable to shake off the despair that had come over me since my ill-timed ejaculation, I mumbled, "But I won't be able to-“

Melita held up her hand to silence me, as she asked, "What was our reason for coming through to your bedroom?"

My mind was still in no controlled state to think that far back, "To do it?" I asked lamely.

Her smile was kindly, as she took my hands and drew me close, skin on skin, and my limp cock, thankfully, out of her view. "Well, that may yet be the outcome. But I asked if you wanted-"

As though, having her warm breast feathering against my chest, suddenly restored my memory, I butted in, "To learn about a woman's body."

"Exactly," she said, and, drawing away from me, she clambered up onto the bed as she added, "That tool of yours will be redundant, while you become my stimulus."

Saying that she lay back on the bed, her thighs slightly parted, and was that the beginning of a crack I could see amid the bush of hair down there? I stood there bemused by the luxury of this image spread open on my very own bed.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" Melita asked, and climbing alongside her, I heard her add, "Everywhere?"

Confident as our lips came together and our tongues meshed, I was on recently familiar ground. My left arm lay behind her head while my right hand snuggled into the concavity of her waistline. It was great having her hands stroking up and down my back and over my buttocks.

Melita broke our mouth tingling kiss to whisper, "Stroke my shoulders, and down onto my breasts."

In moving my right hand from her waist it became breast before shoulders, but each was an exquisite sensation. Tracing the curve of her shoulders was dream-like, but moving back over those breasts, both breasts this time, was pure joy. They were so soft yet so firm and silky. As she had advised me earlier, I finger-tipped her nipples, always being as gentle as I could.

She broke the kiss, and, on a heavy sigh, she whispered, "Kiss my nipples, Mark. Tongue, lips and teeth."

Teeth? What did that mean? But the notion of running my mouth and tongue over the surfaces my fingers were now possessing excited me so much that I was sure that in my groin there was an awakening twitch.

With a final glance into the depths of those hopeful brown eyes, my lips parted slightly so that I traced lips and tongue-tip over each luscious orb. Instinct rather than any skill had my mouth moving in a slowly decreasing circle around her left bosom until my tongue centred on caressing that nipple.

"Suck on it, Mark," came a rather strained instruction. As soon as I was carrying out that order, drawing her nipple into my mouth her voice hissed again, "Oh, that's so—so good."

My groin made an added twitch from just knowing that I could give her real pleasure in doing this. Her fingernails were trailing a magical scoring very gently up and down my back and buttocks, as she sighed, "Your teeth, Mark. Scratch each nipple gently with your teeth. That's it,-oh, yesss-" And her voice trailed away in another blissful sigh, and, without doubt, I felt my excitement increasing.

She moaned gently, and it made me feel like the world's greatest lover, as she murmured her next instruction, "Don't stop what you're doing, but rub your hand over my belly."

My hand had been stroking the under-slope of her breasts, while my mouth did the main work, but now I allowed my palm to stroke over the flatness of her belly. Was I heading towards what had always been forbidden territory?

"Run your fingers through my bush." Her voice came to me as though she was short of breath, as my fingers roamed in that near wonderland of tight hair that would lead to—God, would I dare to go there?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her knees rise slightly as her thighs parted, and her next instruction was not the one I had expected. "Fingers along my inner thigh, Mark."

Reluctantly, I moved my hand from her bush, and next moment I was experiencing the incredible smoothness of her inner thigh. I thought her breasts and belly had been silky, but this area of her body was so exquisite to the touch.

I continued finding that her skin was an electric charge, and my fingers moved lavishly up and down her thigh. I was greatly aware that on the upward stroke I was coming fascinatingly close to that area of a woman that was steeped in mystery.

"Oh, Mark, you have to feel me now." She sounded breathless as she reached down for my hand and placed it deliberately on the point where her thighs parted. "Find my crevice, just a movement--Ah, oh yes, that's it."

I had simply, gingerly slid my fingers downwards and had immediately encountered a split. Another little nudge and felt moistness. "Yes, I'm ready. Can you tell?"

All I could do, as my fingers tingled where they touched, was stupidly nod my head as I became aware of my stiffened cock pressing against her leg. "Further in. My little nub. My clit."

Again I had heard this name and knew it was important, and hard to find, I had been told. But now it wasn't hard to find at all. Just a short way into her moistness it jutted like a mini-erection, and the moment I touched it, Melita's whole body tensed and her nails dug more deeply into my back.

With a near squeal she cried, "Explore me, Mark. Search me out."

I needed no encouragement now. My erection was almost up to full scale again, and Melita was rubbing her thigh against it. I should warn her, but I became too busy in trailing through the deep, warm moisture between those magical lips. But where was it? Where was the promised entry hole? In a way, I was surprised how far I had to probe back through her eager wetness before my fingers suddenly sank into her deep passage.

Desperately excited, worrying about my staying power as my erection pulsed against her thigh, and so aware of her gasping breaths, I allowed one finger to poke into her secret place as deeply as I could. The walls were hot and wet and pulsed on my finger, but then she was grabbing at me, and screaming, "Get it into me. Do me. Fuck me--now. Quick—oh, God quick."

Frantically one of her hands was pulling me upwards while the other grabbed for my throbbing cock. As I moved up towards her face, I felt her fingers close around it and I gasped, " No, Melita, I'll--"

Her gasps matched mine as she said, "No you won't—not before-" And I sensed her placing my penis head right into her entry, as her body jerked at it "Push—push deep -Oh, God yes."

My rampant cock was at last gliding hard and fast up where her vaginal muscles heaved at it like the coils of a spring and her squeals of delight were intoxicating. My cock head struck somewhere deep inside her and I was able to draw back and thrust again. My God, I was fucking a woman--I was really doing it, at last.

My attempt at a third thrust, together with the demanding heaving of her hips and her ecstatic cries were just too much. As all tension was released inside me, I managed a series of deep hard thrusts to cascade my seed deep into her. My body jerked with each expulsion.

Melita recognised what was happening and she sighed, "Ooh, yes, Mark, cum inside me. I'm safe."

No sooner had the last drop been expelled than my cocks collapsed like a pricked balloon and slid out of Melita's channel. "Is he dead?" she asked lightly, as her fingers poked briefly at my wet flaccid cock.

"Totally"

"He'll soon recover." She looked up at me and I bent to kiss her gently. When we broke apart, she said, "I'm sorry about that."

What a strange thing for her to say. "How could you be sorry? Was it no good for you?"

"Quite the opposite. I haven't had an orgasm like that—well, for a very long time, and haven't had a man inside me for quite a few months. I just wasn't aware of how much I wanted it. When I saw you, I became greedy."

I could hardly come to terms with what she was telling me. "But you were keeping me on the right track."

"Maybe to satisfy my own needs," she said. “Next time will be even better."

Next time? Did she mean--? "We can do it again?"

Her smile was teasing as she said, "Only if you have the strength. I can take what you've got all day," Her eyes were wide and honest staring up at me, "Mark, I've been f-- had sex-" she paused, as though making a count, "-yes, eight times. Being your first time, it makes me eager for more."

I smiled at her caution with the language she used. She had been unable to keep a check on it at the height of her passion. But what she had just said, well, maybe she was just being kind. In an almost natural action, I laid my hand on her left breast. That would have been unthinkable just over an hour ago.

"You like my breasts, don't you? That's good," she said teasingly, and added, "Could I take a shower?"

"We don't have a shower, only a bath."

She shrugged, "Okay, anything to freshen my body for you."

Freshen her body for me? What did that mean? But I sat up and asked, "Should I run it for you? It's the door straight across from this one."

"That would be nice."

Within three minutes the bath was filling up and I found two large towels in the airing cupboard. I was about to call her when she suddenly pressed against my buttocks, and I could feel the tickle of her bush.

"All set," I told her.

"Care to share?" she asked, with a devilish glint in those brown eyes. I might have been the shy boy earlier, but she was swiftly guiding me out of that, and without any delay, we were settled together in the warm water. Holy hell, I was in the bath with a naked lady, her bare back against my chest, her hands on my thighs. All so very intimate.

Even more intimate and arousing was the application of my well-soaped hands passing around her to wash lavishly over her breasts and belly.

"Down lower," she said quietly, turning her head back to receive my warm kiss, before adding, "Give a thorough rub. You have more work to do there when we're dry." She giggled, "Although I'm never going to be totally dry everywhere while you're stroking me."

Lavishing in this new world of sensuality, I did as requested, and my fingers slid so easily between her thighs., and began exploring.

"Hell, aren't you a quick learner," she hissed. It was a statement rather than a question, and very quickly she was adding, giving a little wriggle, "I do believe I'm being prodded by a big stick. Where has that come from?"

Her hand felt behind her and closed around my erect cock, "I thought we left him dying in the bedroom. Anyway, it's my turn now." Twisting and turning, raising her legs over mine so that briefly I had a lovely view of the pink of her that I had been so recently fingering, she managed to end up facing me

Mileta began soaping me from shoulders, over my chest, down onto my belly. Then she leaned back on her arms and stared down, "Oh, look," she declared cheerily, "it's up periscope."

The purple head of my erect cock was peeping through the surface of the water. Despite feeling a little discomfited, I had to chuckle. Melita clearly shared my amusement as she said, "That little eye is looking straight at me. Am I in danger?"

"Am I?"

"Most definitely," she laughed. "Let's get dried." And she was up and reaching for the towels, as I watched the streams of water spraying and tracking down her fantastic body.

"Come on," she said, pushing one towel towards me as I slowly rose from the water. Then we were quickly dabbing at each other with the towels. For me, all of this was like being locked in an incredible dream from which I did not want to wake up.

Mileta, barely dry, hurried from the bathroom, across to my bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "Come on, slowcoach."

Getting a demand like that from a naked lady there is nothing to do but follow! Walking into the bedroom, with my erection bobbing in front of me like a recently used diving board, I found her seated on the side of the bed, thighs parted, arms held out.

With a sly smile on her face, she said, "Better bring that wayward thing over here."

Uncertain, but sure that I was longing to be thrusting inside her just like before, I stood hesitantly in front of her. She leaned forward and said, "Ah, well, if you're going to wave that in my face." Her hand closed around my solid cock and at the same time, her tongue licked around the smooth purple head.

Remembering my shame, the last time we had been in this position, I tried to ease back, "I might--" I started to warn.

"Oh, no you won't," Melita told me, her voice a near growl. Her fingers tightened on the base of my cock, and I watched in a mix of dismay and wonder as she opened her mouth wide so I could see my hard cock lying snug along her tongue. This was a time before the term blow-job had become common currency. I had heard talk about cock-sucking which sounded dirty, and I wasn't sure if people actually did it.

Briefly, she looked up at me before her closing her lips around my cock, and her head pushed forward so I could relish the delight of being propelled right to the back of her throat.

The way her cheeks went concave, I knew she was actually, genuinely sucking. So, it was true. The movement of her tongue, the warm moist pressures she was able to apply, made it pure ecstasy. I realised that Melita's fingers had remained tight around my shaft and that was why I wasn't spouting into her mouth. Wouldn't that have been horrific for her?

In the grip of such elation, I dropped my hands onto her bare thighs. Might I reciprocate this joy? Could I find her clit again? My right hand slid between her parted thighs and into her welcoming wetlands. Almost instantly my fingers found her clit, jutting, waiting for me, like an old friend.

At my touch, Melita's tongue fluttered around my cock, and a grunting gasp escaped her crowded mouth. Then she drew back her head to release me and placed her hands on either side of my head as she stared into my eyes. Her own eyes had become clouded and she said, "Mark, someday, some lucky lady will take you into her mouth, and will happily swallow all you have to give."

Her head shook, and she shuddered as my fingers strummed over and around her clit. When she spoke again her voice had risen a tone, "But I'm too selfish today. Today I want that iron rod of yours to travel up inside me once more. But first-"

She leaned back on her elbows as she went on, "Would you lick where your fingers are working right now."

She must have seen the look of disgust on my face. "Lick down there?" I gasped.

"I did it for you," she said quietly, and there was no petulance in her voice. "And if you really want to know about a woman's body, much of the answer lies between her legs."

Despite my misgivings, there was a rising curiosity about what it might be like. I dropped to my knees, so I was between her open thighs, my face level with that spot where my fingers had never stopped teasing.

"Now, you have fingered between those lower lips that you see."

"Slightly parted?"

Melita's delighted chuckle was punctuated by her heavy breathing, "Oh, yes, I suppose they are by now. Use your thumbs to part them more."

To carry out that instruction I had to move my fingers from her clit. As my thumbs opened her out, my eyes were feasting on what looked like the heart of a pink rose, with layers of fleshy petals. Between those petals, I could see the obvious nub of her erect clit and further back the secret darker spot of her entry.

Cautiously, I leaned forward to place the tip of my tongue tentatively on her clit. Instantly her body wriggled and a little, "Ooh" sound escaped her lips. The only aroma was a slight muskiness, which wasn't at all what I had expected.

Encouraged, I pushed my tongue more firmly over that erect nub, and again I was aware of her body trembling. Confidence running wild and my own body aflame, I ploughed my tongue right through the many pink folds until it was poking into her entry and I was sure secret forces tried to pull it deeper.

Amazed at the creaminess of the taste, I moved my mouth back to attend to her clit but poked two fingers of my left hand up inside her.

That seemed to be the trigger point for Melita. Her whole pubic area lunged up in my face, as she squealed, "In me, Mark. Oh, God, quick, quick."

I may have been enraptured in mouthing over her pink folds, but I recognised the early warning of my pulsing cock. I swiftly rose and plunged my cock head towards her eager entry. With one solid push, my cock was travelling like an express train in a dripping tunnel, and like a train, it ran into some part of her that served as a buffer.

The sensation was pure heaven for me but the groans, squeaks and heaving that emerged from Melita left me in no doubt that she was in the middle of a premature climax.

Just a little pleased with myself, I found that I was more in control than I had been on our first encounter, and while Melita continued to bump and grind against my lusty thrusting, I was able to make a count of nine thrusts before my ejaculation started. Then I felt I could not stop grunting at each spasm of discharge.

As I calmed and we shuffled around the bed into positions of greater comfort, Melita said, "I didn't expect that. Coming so quick. Were you all right with it?"

I kissed her fondly, "Slightly better than all right."

"And mouthing me?"

I gave her a smile, "Surprisingly tasty."

She returned my smile as she said, "You know what my name means?"

I shook my head,

"It means honey. Did I taste like that?"

I hugged her, and we laughed together when I told her, "Oh, yes, but with lashings of cream."

Then we lay silent in each other’s arms, and I am sure her mind, like mine, was dwelling on this being so near the end of something.

At last, she said, "If anyone had told me this morning how I'd be spending the rest of the day, I'd have said they were crazy."

"Maybe you were crazy to waste your time on me."

"Have I not helped you?"

"I can't tell you how much."

"Then my time wasn't wasted. And I was more selfish than I expected by chasing my own pleasure. I envy those lucky ladies at your university."

Sitting up, leaned over me, and we shared another warm kiss, before she said, "When you meet the one you know you want to spend your life with, the kind of coming together we’ve had today becomes absolutely marvellous."

"You've had this?" I asked her, and her face looked wistful, as when she'd told me why she had been late in university.

"Yes, I have," she said quietly, adding, "It's wonderful, but there can be hurt with it." And then she shocked me by asking, "Can we do it one last time?"

This surprise final time, started with warm kisses which gradually became wilder, as tentative caresses became more eagerly directed. The touching took us nowhere near the desperate needs of our previous sessions, so it was from this relatively controlled foreplay that my erection was soon gliding with exquisite ease up into her warm wet channel.

Melita's hips rose to meet each stroke, and her internal muscles pulled at me from the start. But I was sure I could hang on, as Melissa’s familiar grunts and gasps thrilled me.

I did not count how many of my deep thrusts buffered up against her cervix. It was certainly more than a dozen which was much more than I had managed before. Maybe my staying power was better because I was empty of cum, or because my mind was distracted by this being our last time and parting was imminent. Or was it just possible that I was improving?

Melita was moaning her pleasure under me, and I bent to kiss over her breasts and suck at a nipple as the pressure in my scrotum served a warning. I would have liked to have taken Melita on that final ride with me but could tell she was not quite at that level.

I tried desperately to hold back, but the surge would not be denied, and the next second, and with several short sharp thrusts I was emptying my meagre load deep inside her.

Not as controlled as I’d thought, and consequent elation was mixed with regret that we hadn't made it together. Yet, as my cock released its final burst, I found that my late flurries of ejaculation had somehow, triggered Melita's own climax as she squealed her delight and ground her hips with some force against my hard cock, seconds before it started to fade.

"Oh, God, I'm not going to forget this—ever," she sighed as I collapsed against her and our sweating bodies welded together.

As we reluctantly dressed, Melita said, "I feel so guilty about what I've taken from this. I was supposed to be showing you."

I watched those delicious breasts disappear as she fastened up her blouse, and I said, "Guilty? After what you've done for me?"

"I didn't expect to get so much out of it."

A wave of egotism, as I asked lightly, " Was I so good?"

She laughed, "Oh, I don't want to give you a big head. But you were a fast learner."

"But I had a beautiful body to practice on—not to mention the lovely face that forced me to offer coffee."

She kissed me lightly and said, "Should we have another one?"

Knowing what she meant, I gave a shocked look towards the bed, and Melita gently thumped my shoulder and laughed, "Coffee, you glutton."

We went through to the kitchen and slowly sipped coffee, dragging out our final minutes together. I managed to pluck up the courage to ask the question of our chances of meeting again.

Melita reached out and took my hand, and with her thumb stroking it gently, she said, "The idea has much appeal, but I have some experience of these things. Distance doesn't always make the heart grow fonder." She squeezed my hand, "I've already told you how I'm envious of the women you will continue your intimate education with."

I just did not want this to happen, and I began, "But I only want-"

Melita held up a hand, "Mark, you are only eighteen and have so many bridges to cross. I was just one of them."

"But you read so accurately about my lack of sexual experience."

Smiling gently, Melita took hold of both my hands. "Confession time. You do have a positive lifeline, allied to a hopeful success line, but there is no known line on the palm of your hand that would tell me whether you had experience of the opposite sex."

Her smile was so appealing that I was compelled to return it, even though I was puzzled by what she was telling me. "So when you asked if I'd had any experience--?"

"I wasn't reading that in your hand, but it was so evident in your body language. Your nervousness, your eyes when you looked into my face, before looking away, and my cleavage was given so much attention—I was pretty certain. You were ready for instruction—or put another way—for seduction. I quickly realised that I was ready too."

Should I have felt annoyed, or cheated? How could I when she had given me her body so willingly?

"Are you annoyed?" she asked, and when I shook my head she added, "Don't be. From the moment you opened your door to me, I was attracted to you. All I needed was an excuse."

I tried to treat the situation lightheartedly, "And from the moment you opened your special door to me I knew -"

"Knew what?"

"That it would be hard to let you go."

She gave a little shiver, and stood up, "Yes, it is ever thus." The sadness in her voice matched how I was feeling, "Tomorrow we're away down south. Then university and life slips into its ordained pattern."

Melita collected her shawl, and turning her face to me, I saw her eyes had moistened. We reached the front door. How long had it been since I had opened it to her? Time didn't matter. What I had learned with Mileta was all that mattered. And I told her that as she unlatched the door.

Before opening the door, she turned to give me a final kiss. It was tender and full of feeling as she said, "I came to tell your fortune. I found your lifeline and your line of good fortune." And there was a definite tear on her cheek as she added, "I hope I've helped you towards finding the elusive romance line."

She pulled the shawl over her head and became a gipsy once more. Pulling the door open, she murmured, "I'm sure you will have plenty to choose from. Choose carefully and love her well."

Moist brown eyes regarded me for the last time, and she said, "Goodbye, Mark."

"I'll never forget you, Mileta," I said weakly, raising a hand to touch her face, but she was gone. I was left standing watching her neat hooded figure disappear down the street.

Over the years Mileta's predictions for me proved most accurate and the love I eventually found at the age of twenty-nine, blossomed for all of fifty years, thanks, in part, to those brief blessed hours with Mileta, my gipsy.